Extreme Circumstances
by Cbccat1
Summary: No one, not even its creators, knows Extremis and the full extent of its possible abilities, especially when freed from programmed restraints. One wistful, powerful, thought sets off a chain reaction that will eventually rock the entire world. Mpreg.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Extreme Circumstances prologue  
Author: Cbccat  
Rating: R to NC17, parts will not be worksafe.  
Warnings: AU, Mpreg, hurt/comfort, romance, drama.  
Fandom: New Avengers, Iron Man  
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony  
Word Count: 4,503  
Beta: My thanks to the imdomitable Mozzarellaroses for her lightning fast beta work.  
A/N: Alternate Universe folks! Since discovering this pairing I've been reading up on Civil War and afterwards. This fic will begin with a small scene in Steve's cell on the Raft and the rest will start a month afterwards. Almost everything that happened right after his death and after Steve's funeral will Not take place here! One or two things might pop up but the rest is strictly AU. I'm not even going to consider how they brought Steve back, I'll write my own way.  
Disclaimer: Don't own them, I wish I did. I only lay claim to the people, places, and things I create for this fic. Not making any money so there's no use suing.  
Summary: No one, not even its creators, really knew Extremis and the full extent of its possible abilities, especially when freed from programmed restraints. One wistful, yet powerful, thought sets off a chain reaction of events that will eventually rock the entire superhero world and change the course of history.

Night before the arraignment-The Raft…

"I must be outta my mind," Dugan muttered as he took a seat at the security station. "But I gave my word."

Typing in his clearance codes and the ones Nick gave him before he left, he activated Fury's shielded cameras that were hidden in the Raft's lowest levels. Stark may have used that creepy Extremis thing to shut everything down and enter a masking loop into the system, but he was probably too preoccupied by what was going on down there to be looking for any secret backups.

Dugan understood why Cap wanted this last meeting between him and Stark. Almost from the moment he was retrieved from the ice, Iron Man had been Cap's best friend. They'd stood by each other through thick and thin, defended each other even when the evidence to their wrongdoing was overwhelming. In battle, they were always guarding each other, and when one was hurt, the other became all the more dangerous in his fallen friend's defense.

Hell, they'd sacrificed their lives for each other.

Stark had exposed himself to the Red Skull's bio-weapon to give Cap CPR even though there was no cure at the time. And just recently, Stark electrocuted himself, stopping his own heart to save Cap's life.

To see this amazing friendship and brotherhood die because of that dammed registration act was sickening. And that's why he agreed to Cap's request.

Dugan practically had to twist the New Director's arm to get him to agree to the meeting.

Tony Stark, Director of SHIELD. Damn, the world really had gone to hell. But at least Stark was a better choice for the job than Hill; even she knew that.

Two weeks had passed since Cap surrendered and the venue for his arraignment had finally been chosen. If there was going to be any kind of reconciliation between these two men, it had to be tonight.

After a minute, the screens in front of him glowed to life.

Picking up his coffee, Dugan leaned back and watched.

Ah, there was Stark standing in front of Cap's cell, gazing at the man's image on the door's video screen. Gun-calloused fingers turned up the volume.

/You asked to see me. /

Cap nodded. /I've been told my arraignment's tomorrow. / There was no more anger in his voice, only a kind of calm resignation. The fourteen days since his surrender had allowed both men to calm down, to bleed off the adrenaline and anger.

/Yes. /

/You know what they're going to do. /

/Yes. / Stark was leaning against the thick door, unable to look Cap in the eyes. /The committee's going to charge you with every crime they can lay their hands on. If it was up to Kooing you'd be facing a firing squad. He's out for blood. /

/I'm to be made an example of. To show the remaining superheroes if they don't do what they're told they'll meet the same fate. / Cap's own eyes were downcast.

/It'll be a fair trial. / Stark turned back to the screen. /You'll get your chance to defend your stance. Use the law to-/

/It's only for show, Tony, you and I both know that. This trial's a farce. Even if it wasn't, they'd never allow me to speak. I've already been tried and convicted by these people. The only reason they're going ahead with it is to placate the public and garner more support; they'll broadcast it live to the whole world. /

Stark didn't say anything. What was there to say? Dugan knew Cap was right and by the lowered head and slumped shoulders, Stark knew it too.

The silence stretched between them until Steve moved closer, placing one hand on the screen.

/As a condemned man I'm entitled to a last request. /

Stark's head jerked up. /They're not going for the death penalty despite Kooning's demands! I wouldn't allow if he did succeed! Even if I had to break you out myself, I'd never let them execute you! /

/What do you call the destruction of all that I am, all that I represent? / Cap shook his head. /I didn't ask you to come here to talk about any of this. There's nothing you can do to stop it without drawing fire to yourself. /

/Then why am I here? /

/As I said a last request from a condemned man; one last night with you. /

/Steve… /

/No talking, no registration; just the two of us…together…one last time. /

Stark was frozen, eyes wide, hands braced against the door's heavy frame.

/Please Tony, don't make me beg… /

Minutes passed before Stark's fingers skimmed over the cell's keypad lock. The door slid open and Stark stepped inside, straight into Cap's open arms.

Ppppssshhhhhhht! Dugan spit the gulp of coffee he'd just taken all over the control board and himself. Lucky for him everything was shielded against accidental drenching.

What the hell? Was he hallucinating? Maybe someone had slipped some drug into his mug when he wasn't looking, for surely he wasn't watching Captain America trying to perform a tonsillectomy with his tongue! He really hadn't seen this one coming.

Maybe the Raft had shifted into some bizarre alternate dimension, Dugan frantically thought, as Cap continued to kiss Stark even as his hands were working on removing the other man's clothes.

Damnit! He shouldn't be watching this! He should go down there and break this…this….whatever the hell it was up!

But he gave Cap his word. So long as the other man kept his promise not to attempt an escape or kill Stark, he wouldn't interfere. And a secret little part of himself, previously unknown, was whispering to him that he didn't want to look away, didn't want to stop these men.

Dugan didn't swing that way, no he didn't. Never had so much as a speck of curiosity about what same sex would feel like. Dugan didn't hold any prejudices against it either. In his educated opinion there wasn't so much love in the world that it couldn't benefit from more, regardless of the genders involved. It was just that women were much more to his taste with their soft skin, lush curves, and soft voices that could rev up his engines in a flash.

So why couldn't he tear his eyes from the screen?

Why did his uniform suddenly feel so damned tight in the crotch?

Dugan couldn't help but notice how attractively built Stark was, or how…right…the two men seemed together.

There went the orange coveralls and—Damn! He owed Contessa two hundred bucks. Cap really was hung like a horse; it wasn't just his costume's protective cup distorting the size of his equipment.

Cap took his own sweet time preparing Stark. It was like he was committing every last inch of the man to memory. It made sense. This was probably going to be the last time they would ever be together and Cap wanted to engrave every second into his head. Stark appeared to have similar thoughts, for he was pressing his body up against Cap's, hands and mouth in constant motion. Cap shifted their positions and both men moaned as their aligned cocks rubbed against each other.

Stark made a strangled sound as Cap's hand wrapped around their touching flesh and began a series of firm strokes and squeezes while his other hand skimmed down the taut back to cup and fondle Stark's ass before delving between them to caress the puckered opening hidden there.

It wasn't long after that that Stark lost control. A sharply pitched shout and he was spilling his seed all over Cap's hand from where it was quickly gathered up. Dugan gasped, hands clutching the chair's armrests as Cap used the man's own semen to lube Stark up.

Grabbing Stark's legs, he lifted the slightly smaller man off his feet and pinned him to the wall. Held aloft solely by Cap's strong arms, Stark shuddered, fingers clawing at solid muscles along Cap's back as his body was breached.

Oh God! Stark not only took that monster right down to the root but he was begging for more.

It appeared that Cap approached sex the same way he did swing dancing: with a great deal of strength, flexibility, talent, and enthusiasm. Stark's legs were wrapped around those powerful flexing hips, hands gripping Cap's upper arms, a multitude of sounds escaping his lips as he gasped for air.

Dugan groaned, one hand falling to his uniform-restrained erection. Deftly, he freed it from its uncomfortable confinement and gave a shuddering gasp when his fingers came in contact with his own heated flesh. Unconsciously he fell into the same rhythm as the two men on the screen.

The sounds and motions were reaching a fever pitch; Cap was loosing control, his thrusts more erratic and Stark was babbling incoherently when he wasn't screaming. Finally the building tension snapped and both men came screaming each other's names. Dugan himself gave a hoarse shout as he coated his hand with strands of pearly white come.

Collapsing back in the chair trying to regain control of his breathing Dugan gave a mental sigh of relief. (Thank God that's over. Now—what?)

Cap had pulled out and he was still erect.

The Super Soldier Serum! It greatly increased the man's stamina and decreased the body's production of fatigue poisons. The man could train for hours without breaking into a sweat. And if he could train for hours he could fuck for hours too!

Oh Shit!

S&T

An undisclosed location in New York …

Maria Hill, now deputy director of SHIELD, slipped through the dark rows of warehouse shelves to the arranged rendezvous point, her weapon drawn and the safety off. These docks were all but deserted at this time of night, but even now there were security patrols, homeless ramblers seeking shelter for the night, and the occasional criminal picking up or dropping off some illegal goods.

It was imperative that her presence not be discovered; whoever she encountered would be disposed of quickly and quietly.

"Ah Maria, right on time as always." The voice emanated from the darkness, smooth as silk and more chilling than an arctic wind in the dead of winter. "I admire punctuality."

Holstering her gun, Maria moved forward and sat on a crate. "Let's get this over with. I need to be back before Stark or Dugan come looking for me. "

"Of course. Is everything ready?"

"Are you certain that group is going to strike before the arraignment?"

"Yes. My agents have verified their hand in choosing the location. But their plans are not mine; I'm only allowing them to continue so long as they serve my current needs. Once those needs are met, they will be dealt with."

"The Red Skull and his cohorts aren't ones to so easily dismiss." Maria remarked.

"Nonsense, Maria; none of them realize that they are already the walking dead. Once Rogers is in my hands I shall trigger the nano-grenades they've been ingesting with each meal for the last three weeks. The Red Skull, his little hellspawn daughter, and Faustus should create quite a spectacular explosion, incinerating everything and everyone around them for quite some distance."

"An explosion that big will be just like another Stamford to the media vultures." The SHIELD agent ran her hand through her short cropped hair. "They'll be all over it-and so will Stark."

"All evidence will point to the destruction being caused by one of Zola's experiments gone wrong." The speaker paused and sighed. "It's a pity Zola has to die; he's quite brilliant in his own way, but impossible to control."

"And what about the rest of your allies?"

"Most still serve a purpose but rest assured, when their usefulness is done, they will meet a similar fate. Have no fear that you will be among them Maria; I see no end to your usefulness."

"I still think this isn't going to work."

Shadows shifted as Maria's companion stepped closer. "It will work! Rogers will be taken to the nearest hospital where my agents are already waiting. They will make the final adjustments to the clone, place Rogers in cryogenic suspension, and transport him to my labs. Your job is to see that none of the loyal SHIELD agents try to interfere. Remember, Maria, I need Rogers alive and relatively intact. He's of no use to me dead."

"A job I'd be able to do better if I was Director. Why did you have me peg Stark for the position?" She frowned at the shadow. "Surely my being Director would have been a better choice."

"Not exactly Maria. Think back to when Fury was in command. He didn't have his hand jammed into nearly every cookie jar in the nation and thus was able to focus on running SHIELD; Stark does not have that luxury. SHIELD and Stark are too much in the public's eye and that means they have to be put under constant media scrutiny. Do you think you could function properly as my agent under such surveillance? With everything he's doing, Stark will turn to his closest subordinates to help him run SHIELD; namely you and Dugan. The media will focus on Stark while you will be in the perfect position to monitor things, perform your assignments, and head off anyone who gets too close to the truth without exposing yourself."

"But I will be Director again once this is over correct?"

"I gave my word and my word is my bond. Remember that I want Tony Stark as well. The Extremis file you sent me was fascinating and bears further study. When Stark disappears you will take back the Directorship."

Placated by her superior's words, Maria relaxed and began focusing on the plan. "I think it would be best if we started the clean-up as soon as possible. When Captain America 's death is broadcast on live TV, some of them are going to panic. Panicked people talk."

"Then do so, use the first list as they are the most accessible. Start with Ms. Hansen. With your last report I now have all of her research and development data and, once Stark is in my possession, a live subject. Her services will no longer be required."

"Any particular way you want them done?"

"Be creative, use your imagination. Just remember to stagger the timing a bit."

Maria glanced at her watch; she needed to leave in the next fifteen minutes if she wanted to make it back in time for her duty shift. Her movement was not lost upon her companion.

"I believe we are finished here. You had best return to the Helicarrier. Should there be any changes in the plan I will alert you. Good night Maria." And with that the other faded back into the darkness and was gone.

Maria waited until the soft footfalls could no longer be heard before pulling her gun and retracing her steps to her hidden transport.

S&T

The Raft

Three hours!

Three hours of almost non-stop fucking with Cap, only halting long enough to allow Stark some recovery time before going at it again. Just about every surface in that small cell had been utilized; the wall, the floor, the door, the bed, the sink. If there was a sexual position that would work in that area, they used it. It was like watching a visual guide to the gay Kama Sutra. Finally, both men fell into an exhausted sleep, limbs entangled, with Stark's head resting on Cap's broad chest just above his heart.

Before succumbing, Dugan would almost swear he'd heard murmured words of love slip past both their lips but he'd only be certain of that once he scrutinized the tape in more detail.

He felt slightly guilty recording the events in Cap's cell. This was a very intimate and emotional moment for these two men and he'd caught the whole thing on tape like some secret pornographer. But Dugan couldn't shake the feeling that something important, something truly…miraculous had occurred and he had been privileged to witness it.

And if worse came to worst Dugan could use the tape to keep Stark in line.

Dugan ejected the tape and erased all the data for the last six hours from the computer. He was never here and Stark had never visited the prisoner nor spent all that time in the man's cell. All anyone would find was a boring log of Cap pacing a bit, setting on his bed thinking, and finally falling asleep. The agent who was supposed to be manning this station was outside the door; a good man he'd trained personally and knew was fiercely loyal to SHIELD, Fury, and himself.

"The next shift starts in fifteen minutes Sir," the agent reminded him as he slipped into his chair. "You have that long before the loop ends and anyone looking will see exactly what's in that cell."

Dugan nodded and headed for the elevators. He needed to wake Stark up and get him off the Raft before anyone could find the current SHIELD Director buck naked in a top security prisoner's cell looking like he's been well and truly fucked into the mattress along with every other available surface.

S&T

Unknown Location

Whistling an old Broadway tune as he punched in an access code three times longer than a social security number, the man hit the enter key and smiled as the heavily reinforced door parted to allow him entrance.

He stepped through…right into another dimension.

Before him stretched a series of suspended walkways and platforms, all radiating from an immense central core, like the legs of a spider. Still whistling, the man began making his way to the core area. Only when he reached his goal did he stop and study the realm beyond the protective railings.

Far below, the landscape was bleak, a vast expanse of shifting grey sands dotted by jagged rocky spires, pointing like daggers towards the pitch black sky.

Just beyond the platform's wards, bitterly cold winds stirred the air, filled with countless faint whispers too faint to discern any actual words or single out one voice among the multitude. Reaching out, he trailed his fingers along the wards, watching the energy trails each tip left, relishing the tingle of energy imparted to his skin.

Leaning against the high rails, he closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. He could easily see now how she could spend days or even weeks isolated in this dimension of endless space. Entering this realm was so soothing and was accompanied by a sense of one returning home after a long absence.

Turning away, he strode over to the raised dais with its grouping of computers and controls; time to get to work.

Here, time had no meaning, without any references to guide him, the man could have been working for hours or perhaps even days before the melodic voice interrupted him.

"Really Bernard, why do you insist on waiting here for my return? Would it not be more comfortable in our quarters?"

Descending one of the steeper walkways was his Dark Empress, his sweet Goddess of Discord; resplendently cloaked in garments crafted from the blackest night, speckled with tiny cold lights from a thousand dying suns, her hip length ebony hair floating about her svelte figure like wispy storm clouds, every motion fluid and utterly without any waste of energy.

As always, his heart gave a mighty thump every time he met her penetrating gaze, the color of turquoise, glowing with an unearthly inner light that pierced one straight to the soul. He never tired of her eyes.

"Why would I wait there when I know this is where you will go first?" He greeted her with a smile and a gentle kiss upon the back of her hand. "How did the meeting go?"

"Ah," she chuckled. "Curiosity then; beware indulging in that Bernard. After all, curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back. And thanks to you I now have an infinite number of lives to use in fulfilling that curiosity." He escorted her over to her favorite chair and settled into his own to hear her recount.

"Hill has her orders. We're moving ahead with Phase One of the purges."

"Is that wise? We may still need some of those people."

"The group chosen for the first purge are those that have served their purpose and would now be a detriment to our plans should they be interrogated or decide to branch out for themselves."

She tapped one needle sharp fingernail against the chair's arm rest. "That reminds me. I really must send some form of thank you to Wolverine for his disposal of Declun. The man was too arrogant, too greedy, and didn't cover his tracks well enough to hide our involvement. Some of Declun's personal files contained revealing snippets of information on exactly who was really backing him financially. I believe I actually experienced a brief moment of mild concern when that wild man chose to visit Forge. Fortunately my virus was able to erase any damming information before Forge could break in."

"I was against choosing Declun in the first place."

"As I recall you were."

"Maybe next time you'll take my advice," he frowned as he studied the list scrolling across the screen between them. "Hmmm, senatorial aids, congressmen, scientists I can understand but why kill Hanson? I thought you wanted to bring her into the fold?"

"I did. But that was before I became better acquainted with her personality."

"Explain please."

"Hanson feels absolutely no remorse for all those innocent people that terrorist killed using her creation. Her sole and total focus is on perfecting Extremis and she will go to any and all lengths necessary to achieve that goal. And while this lack or morality would be beneficial, her utter lack of loyalty makes her not only unsuitable but a potential danger. If she believed it would advance her work, she would sell us out in a nanosecond. Besides, I now have all her files, every scrap of data on the Extremis. There are far more loyal scientists within my service whom I can assign the project to. Hanson is no longer needed."

"You're correct. You've made your argument for her demise."

"Exactly; a pawn that is no longer useful is to be sacrificed." Black nails danced across a control panel.

Responding to the typed commands, all around the platforms hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of transparent green chessboards phased into existence. But instead of the standard carved pieces, each board was populated by images of people.

People from all races, religions, and walks of life; from oldest to youngest, richest to poorest, and finally from common man to superhero or villain.

"Shakespeare once wrote that all the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. However, in my humble opinion, the Great Bard was wrong. The world is not a stage but a game."

Rising to her feet she glided to the platform's very edge. A simple flick of the wrist summoned several of the boards to hover before her.

"Games within games within games Bernard; played on many levels and on numerous boards simultaneously. Where even the smallest action can affect the outcome of one game or spread its influence to dozens of others ultimately affecting even the Grand Game itself."

She fingered one chess piece, one that looked surprisingly like Doctor Doom.

"You play with dangerous pieces." he commented as she fondled the figure's cape.

"There is no one that does not lie within the scope of my reach. My games began centuries ago. Some moves have taken decades to plan and execute. Unlike our dear little ruler here, I have time as my ally and patience in abundance. I can easily wait for the proper moment to make the winning move. Doom, like so many other megalomaniacs, rush matters; allow their personal emotions to override their rational minds, and that only leads to mistakes and loss of valuable pieces. Such poor players themselves, but they do make excellent chess pieces for my games."

The current board floated away and another drifted into its place. "Most of my pieces never know of the hand that guides them. They foolishly believe each and every action, every decision, is solely of their own choice, never knowing that I have manipulated the events and people around them so they have no other recourse but to make the moves I have chosen."

On this board were positioned various superheroes with Captain America and Iron Man as the opposing Queens .

"My games advance exactly as I have predicted. By this time tomorrow the world will be mourning the death of Captain America and I shall be accepting delivery of one my most coveted specimens."

"Any number of things could go wrong." he reminded her. "Someone could stop the assassination or discover the body switch."

"Nonsense, Bernard, my work is flawless. Outside of my labs, no one has the capacity to distinguish between my creations and the real thing."

"You've lived long enough to know that nothing is impossible. New techniques and technology are being developed every day. All it takes is for one person to be in the right place at the right time." Bernard wagged a playful finger at her.

"Unless the very powers of Fate and Chaos themselves intercede, I have accounted for all the variables. My plan is unstoppable."

"Personally I've never liked words that begin with im- or un-; unstoppable, improbable, unthinkable, impossible, etcetera. I keep thinking of the word unsinkable and we both know what happened to the Titanic; glug…glug…glug."

"Pessimist."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night; my favorite time of the year. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted. My sister's ultimatum about resting up after my surgery came a bit too late. Just a couple of days after she read me the riot act I began running a fever and was too nauseous to eat anything much at all without it coming back up. I had developed an infection deep inside one of the upper incisions which eventually opened. The doctors cleaned it out and put me on antibiotics. It took a while but everything cleared up. So now I'm back to writing and will hopefully, if real life cooperates, post faster.

Part One:  
Director's quarters SHIELD Helicarrier…

Years of alcohol abuse had accustomed Tony to the sensation of kneeling before a toilet, striving to throw up his own toenails. It was a feeling he didn't think he'd experience ever again since he gave up the bottle. Fingers clutched convulsively to the cold rim as he heaved until his abdominal muscles screamed in protest. When the spasms finally eased, Tony rested his head against the bowl, and with a shaking hand, flushed away the meager strings of bile he'd just brought up.

He wasn't ill. Tony was certain of that. Extremis' enhanced healing factor pretty much rendered him immune to everything from the common cold right up to every form of cancer.

(Damn it! What's wrong with me?)

If only he could retire to the tower…spend five or six days running tests….

Yeah, like that was going to happen anytime in the next millennium.

Wetting a washcloth, he wiped his face, using a bit of the running liquid to rinse the bitter acidic taste from his mouth. This was the eighth morning in a row that he'd woken nauseous and scrambling for the bathroom. After a few hours and some light food he was fine, until some smell or image sent him into another bout of praying to the porcelain god.

Bracing himself, Tony attempted to stand, only to groan and fall back to his knees, hands clutching convulsively at his stomach. This aching pain situated in his lower abdomen was plaguing Tony almost constantly now.

It all began a month ago, shortly after…after…

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Even the barest thought of the subject brought back the horrible images.

((The crowds…the procession…the first shot…Steve's face…the look of shock…the blood…all that blood…))

Scrambling for the toilet, Tony retched again, bringing up only froth for his misery.

His fault… His fault…

He hadn't been there when the detail brought Steve to the courthouse. Tony simply couldn't bear to watch the man he'd finally acknowledged he loved just a few hours before being treated little better than some vicious gang leader or drug lord.

Maybe…maybe if he'd been there, Tony might've been able to stop the sniper and save Steve's life.

Tony felt bone tired, yet the very thought of sleep scared the hell out of him. Nightmares constantly drove him screaming from the rest his body so desperately needed.

The nightmares weren't the only things keeping him awake.

Time…there was never enough time now…for anything.

In the past there were moments Tony had felt like a piece of taffy, being stretched and pulled in all different directions at once, fraying along the edges. But never like this. The running of his company, handling registration, dealing with the increasing governmental interference, directing SHIELD, and working on his own superhero team was pulling him in so many directions; Tony was being torn apart by the load.

Pepper's assistance was wonderful as always but did little to relieve the strain. Reed and Hank were doing what they could but neither man was particularly equipped to handle the snakes that slithered on Capitol Hill.

It was getting harder and harder to keep the bastards from getting what they really wanted.

Thank God Peter was safely hidden somewhere out there. What they wanted to do with that young man…and so many others…

He felt sick again, but it passed before the heaves started.

SHIELD was perhaps the easiest of his load-until recently.

Maria Hill was definitely becoming a problem.

As acting skills went, hers were damned good; with talent like that she was wasting her time on SHIELD when she could be on a Broadway stage. To any casual observer she might appear the perfect subordinate; quick thinking, efficient, loyal, and dedicated. But Tony knew differently. He now knew she resented, if not outright hated him. Using the security cameras, Tony had caught her expression when his back was turned; loathing, contempt, and even smoldering anger at times. The tension between them was beginning to be picked up by other SHIELD members.

Tony needed to stop this before it undermined his authority-yet he couldn't get rid of her.

Some very high placed people in Washington wanted Hill as one of his direct subordinates so he couldn't oust her. Assigning her to another post was out of the question too; keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say. Who knew what trouble she'd stir up if she was out of Tony's direct control for any significant length of time?

Standing up, he held onto the sink until the room stopped spinning. Tony simply couldn't go on like this for much longer.

SHIELD did have one of the best medical staff around, but they weren't capable of dealing with Extremis, especially if there was something wrong with the program itself. Nor would he use their facilities to perform his own tests. It was just too risky security wise; some people were too curious for their, and Tony's, own good.

Tony, Hank, and Reed were the only ones possessing the degree of intelligence and technical skill to handle such advanced technological problems, especially now that Maya Hanson was dead.

As a superhero, Tony had gotten used to the idea of dying in battle, so hearing of someone dying after accidentally slipping in the shower and breaking her neck shocked Tony. He hadn't looked at the shower stall the same way since.

His schedule was pretty clear today, a major miracle Tony accredited to being granted by some sympathetic deity. Divine intervention was only explanation for this free time.

Time enough, he hoped, to visit Reed.

It wouldn't be the in depth examination he'd do himself, but at least Reed's could narrow down the field. Who knows; perhaps Reed would get lucky and find the problem and thus save Tony the effort.

He would alert Dugan to his plans even though the man was hip deep in investigating the explosion that destroyed a good chunk of a New York City block.

Barely six hours after Steve's… Steve's death… an explosion devastated a portion of one block, killing dozens and sending dozens more to the area hospitals. Emergency crews first on the scene worked like mad to contain the raging fires that threatened to spread to the remaining building left standing. Only after hours of grueling and dangerous work was the blaze extinguished. Finally, SHIELD investigators could move in.

Sifting through the rubble, they eventually discovered the source, or rather sources, of the blast. Careful examination of the meager bits of human remains found that an unknown type of explosive was actually inside each person and literally ripped them to shreds upon detonation.

DNA tests were the only way to confirm their identities; God, what a bombshell that was.

Aleksander Lukin, former soviet soldier and KGB agent, owner of the Kronas Corporation and Roxxon Oil. He was also, according to files sealed in a blast proof safe embedded in a steel beam twenty yards away, housing the Red Skull's consciousness for a number of years. That little revelation had quite a few government officials who'd been kissing up to the businessman backpedaling and trying to cover their asses.

The second victim, given the identity of the first, was no real surprise; Sin, the Red Skull's daughter.

The last one was Dr. Faustus, who was aiding the Red Skull in coexisting with his reluctant host and his plans to obtain a new body.

The world was now a better place without them in it.

There was barely enough left of all three bodies to fit in a single shoebox, which Tony promptly had reduced to component atoms after their identities were confirmed.

No one mourned the trio's demise. In fact, many governmental and civil rights groups threw parties celebrating. No doubt someone would propose making the date a national holiday. If he could only ensure the three would remain in their graves, Tony would be the first to sign the petition.

Faustus' files were a wellspring of information. All the agents he'd worked with that were now suspected of being mentally compromised were removed from active duty and housed in a geographically isolated and secured facility until they could be cleared. Most accepted the situation readily enough, but a few, like Sharon Carter, were bit harder to handle.

Evidently, her role in Cap's death badly unnerved Sharon and she was now setting in a padded cell under twenty-four hour suicide watch. The doctors were optimistic that they could remove all of Faustus' work and restore her mind but, given her history, might take them years to do so safely. She kept mumbling about guns, Faustus, Steve, and their unborn baby. Tony bristled the first time he heard that but calmed down after the doctors verified that she wasn't pregnant. He knew he shouldn't feel so; Sharon had been a friend for many years. But he couldn't help it. He loved Steve and even now it hurt to think of him sleeping with someone else.

Vultures that they were, the media were in a feeding frenzy. But like vultures they only hung around until the food ran out or other, juicier, stories came around and then they moved on. Several recent high profile deaths worked to draw attention away from Stark and SHIELD and gave Tony some much needed breathing space until the next disaster focused the media back on him.

Grabbing his armor briefcase Tony prepared to leave. He opened the door—and nearly knocked over the person standing there.

"Sorry Jan, I didn't see you." Tony reached down to help his dear friend to her feet while marshalling his strength to present as normal an appearance as possible. "I'm afraid I can't stay and chat. I have an appointment with Reed to keep." He gave her one of his most engaging smiles as he attempted to breeze past.

The effect was totally lost on the Avenger.

Her words brought Tony up short. "I know you're sick Tony."

"Me? Sick? Now where would you get that idea?"

Her eyes cataloged his appearance. "Oh I don't know…perhaps the weight you've lost, your pale complexion, the throwing up?"

Tony blanched paler than he already was. "How did you—."

"Dugan told me, right after he'd arranged some free time for you."

(Dugan arranged this window for me?) Tony stifled a grim chuckle. Dugan probably had plenty of training on handling hard-headed superiors over his long service with Nick. "Jan…"

"Would you like some cheese to go with that whine? I know you Tony. Whatever Reed digs up you'll bury it inside and try to deal with it on your own. Well not this time. I am going with you and will stay with you throughout the entire exam; whatever you hear I'll hear."

"But Jan-,"

"No buts Tony. I'm going with you. Don't make me call in Carol and Natasha."

Tony sighed. He knew when he was beaten; when Jan set her mind to something nothing short of a world destroying catastrophe would be required to change it.

Jan smiled and spun around. "Now that that's settled I have a flying car ready. Don't even think about flying yourself."

S&T

Dugan grunted as he read Stark's message. (About damned time! If he didn't take this chance I would've dragged his ass to Richards myself! At least he's not flying there; probably end up splattered all some skyscraper's windows. Jan will take care of him.)

Stark had done a good job of hiding his illness from the Helicarrier's personnel-but not from Dugan. After decades of service under an infuriatingly stubborn Nick Fury, who'd go to nearly impossible lengths to hide any injury or illness, Dugan knew how to spot the signs.

There really wasn't that much difference between Fury and Stark, now that he had time to think about it. Both men were driven, took unnecessary risks with their own lives, determined to do the right thing no matter what the cost, and pig-headed as all hell. Stark was a little looser with the rules and regulations, but that only earned him the loyalty of some of SHIELD's more eccentric agents.

Dugan wasn't a scientist, and he didn't even understand a fraction of the stuff he'd read about the Extremis that Stark was carrying around in his body. What little he did understand said that Stark shouldn't be getting sick. Richards was one of the best brains on the planet. If anyone could find out what was wrong, besides Stark himself, it was Reed.

He just hoped the two brilliant men could clear this up quickly. Dugan hated the thought of Hill getting her hands on the Directorship again.

Shaking off such troubling thoughts, Dugan turned back to the daunting task at hand.

Who hated the Red Skull and his merry little band of psychos enough and had the scientific skill, access to the trio, and cunning to arrange their deaths in such a spectacular and lethal fashion? The list of possible suspects wasn't that long but after extensive investigations into each one ruled them all out as the culprit.

That left someone new; some unknown player had entered the ballgame.

Damn, but he hated curveballs.

What was this unknown person's, or persons', motive for knocking them off? What was there to gain? Revenge for a betrayal? Justice for some heinous crime one or all of them had committed? Or was this a pre-emptive strike to kill the competition before they were even aware of this newcomer? That seemed the most likely scenario.

Now it was up to Dugan and SHIELD to uncover this new threat and deal with it accordingly.

"We may have a lead Sir."

Dugan felt a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sound of that warm, mellow voice.

Ever since the, in more ways than one, revealing night at the Raft, Dugan found his world shifted radically, his eyes opened to an entirely new facet of his inner being.

And the focus of that new insight?

Agent Gabriel Holt.

Before that night, Dugan knew the lad only to be a dedicated agent, highly skilled in a wide variety of fields and therefore quite valuable to SHIELD.

Now he was also aware of how incredibly attractive he was, how well that uniform accented his body's lean lines and muscles. Gabriel was lithe, with a dancer's build, but surprisingly strong if one was to judge by the weights he regularly lifted in the gym. He possessed a quick mind, with equally quick reflexes that served him well on or off duty. Those storm grey eyes, fierce yet lively. A smile that caused the old agent's heart to give a startling thump every time he was blessed to see it.

There were several instances where Dugan had to catch himself before he reached out and ran his hand through that messy black hair.

Dugan chastised himself. He was old enough to be the young man's grandfather, and here he was, thinking decidedly non regulation thoughts about how and where he'd love to strip that uniform off and explore the body beneath.

(It'd probably scare the kid right out of his wits if he ever found out what this old fool is thinking.)

Dugan shook his head and focused. "What you got?"

"Eight field reports of workers who gained employment at several restaurants and groceries in the area of the apartment building who all quit right after the explosion. Four were on duty at the time and just walked off the job. The others called in to notify the management. Anyone running a standard background check would've passed them, but when we dug deeper, each one fell apart. These people simply don't exist."

Dugan rubbed his chin in thought. "Food. The explosives were in the food."

"My thought as well. All indications point to the Red Skull using that building as a headquarters for quite some time without any incident. It wouldn't take much to tamper with a take out box, and if done correctly, any container from the grocery stores would appear intact. "

"So he wasn't expecting any trouble from that angle and wasn't checking. Can we track any of these people down?"

Gabriel smiled and Dugan nearly kissed the kid. "Already on it."

S&T

The Baxter Building…

Tony had to admit he was grateful for Jan's insistence on taking one of SHIELD's flying cars. The way Tony felt right now he probably would've ended up smeared across the pavement unless he programmed the route into the armor. Reed greeted him warmly enough. Sue was less than cordial before retreating to the family's living quarters. Reed looked on sympathetically as Tony's shoulders slumped. His own relationship with his wife was still strained, but it was slowly getting better. Unless something drastic occured Tony and Sue might never become friends again. Shaking his head sadly, Reed guided his friends into the labs.

Glancing around, Tony noted the differences between Reed's inner sanctum and his own. Tony's workshop was always cluttered with various designs and projects in progress. Reed's labs were more organized and packed to the brim with all manners of strange devices of his own creation.

Tony removed his suit and donned a simple t-shirt and shorts he'd brought in the Armor's briefcase before laying down on an exam table as instructed. True to her word Jan refused to leave the lab, always staying within sight.

There followed four hours of intense, invasive, and often embarrassing tests, several of which, while Reed ran over to verify the results, left Tony sore, nauseous, and developing quite a headache.

"Amazing, simply amazing," Reed mumbled. "You said that you made some alterations to the original programming? Removing some of the safeties and parameters?"

"Yes."

Elongated fingers tapped on one keyboard across the room while his head hovered over Tony's prone form, something which only added to Tony's nausea.

"I can only theorize what's happening Tony," Reed's body joined his head as he assisted the other man in sitting up. "Extremis has, for lack of better word, evolved. Without those parameters limiting it, Extremis has rewritten much of its own programming; meshing itself into every biological system more completely than anything I've ever seen. The sheer complexity of it is staggering."

On the screen, Tony saw the Extremis program as it was now and was shocked to discover he barely recognized large swatches of it.

"For all intents and purposes, Extremis has become a truly symbiotic partner to you Tony. In some scans, I can't even distinguish with any degree of certainty where it ends and you begin."

"Oh God." Tony rubbed his eyes. What else could possibly go wrong? Shit! He shouldn't have thought that!

"Extremis is now so integrated into your body that to even attempt to remove it would most likely kill you."

"It's not like I was planning to get rid of it any time soon." Okay, Extremis was now a permanent tenant. He could live with that.

Reed highlighted one section. "There are some benefits to this partnership. Its building shields, subroutines and firewalls to prevent any outside forces from overriding its system and therefore yours as well. Considering your past history with mind control, Extremis has no doubt recognized such attacks as detrimental and formulated new defenses against any future attempts to invade your mind."

"Glad to hear that, but it doesn't explain why I've been so sick."

Here Reed fidgeted nervously and cleared his throat. "Well, Extremis didn't limit its improvements to itself and your mental protections."

"Get to the point!" Tony snapped.

"Tony…you're pregnant."

Jan gasped. "Oh no…"

Blue eyes narrowed. "Reed this is no time to develop a sense of humor. Cut the joking and tell me what's wrong with me."

Reed sighed. "I'm not joking."

Tony's eyes widened to near impossible levels. "Oh God, you really aren't joking are you? How the hell can I be pregnant? In case you have missed the visual evidence I'm a man."

"Yes, I have noticed, you are a man. A man now possessing a fully symbiotic construct capable of reshaping any part of your body and internal organs based on a specific command or possibly even, and I believe the most likely scenario in this case, on some intense subconscious stimulation."

"Neither of which I've done."

"Are you sure? Not even unconsciously? Has there been any time, say in the last six months or so, which you've thought about children? Especially children that couldn't possibly exist due to the very fact that you are a man?"

"No! Of course no-," Tony froze, all color leeching from his skin.

Back before all this registration hell started, back when everyone was together at the tower. Tony remembered watching Steve hold little Danielle and couldn't help but think what a wonderful father he'd be. At that moment Tony felt deep despair; he couldn't give Steve that precious gift. Tony could receive Steve's sperm by the bucketful but never conceive his child because he lacked the proper organs to do so. There was always adoption or a surrogate but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be that amazing miracle; a part of Tony and Steve blended together into a new life.

"Yes, yes there was."

"It must have been connected to some extremely powerful emotions to trigger such a reaction from Extremis. As you know, within each cell is housed the complete human genetic blueprint. Extremis must have identified and isolated the DNA pertaining to the female reproductive system and used that blueprint to begin growing you a viable uterus and ovaries. That would explain the pain you've been experiencing."

Tony's knuckles were white as he clutched the table's edge. "So…once everything is done forming the pain will go away?"

"Yes, but this is going to get worse before it gets better. There are strong indications that Extremis is preparing for the eventual birth by making a few alterations to your bone structure and constructing a birth canal."

(Birth…birth…I'm…there's a baby inside…I'm pregnant…a baby…Steve…Steve's…)

The terrible reality of the whole situation was sinking in; a baby Steve would never see…never hold…all the firsts he would never experience; the first smile, first laugh, first step.

A child who would grow up never knowing the truly wonderful man who helped create him or her. How could anyone, even Tony himself, ever accurately describe Steve's great heart and soul?

"Tony? Tony! Are you all right?" Reed became concerned as Tony started crying, hugging his body as he rocked back and forth. Stretching an arm out, Reed slapped the intercom button. "Sue! Come to the labs! Quick!"

Jan snarled some form of curse under her breath before climbing onto the table behind Tony, gathering Tony into her arms. The man was an emotional wreck; clutching at her desperately, great broken sobs wracking his body as tears streamed continuously down his face.

Startled by the frantic note in her husband's voice, Sue came running in to discover Reed and Jan trying to calm a nearly hysterical Tony.

Reed tried to help by gently stroking Tony's hair, neck, and shoulders as he would one of their children who were distressed. "Something neither of us expected. He's pregnant."

"What?"

"He's pregnant."

Sue herself felt a touch of shock but immediately pulled herself back together. She'd be of no use to either man unconscious. "Are you sure?"

"I ran the test five times." Reed began rubbing Tony's back, retrieving a glass of water with the other hand. Together, husband, wife, and friend managed to coax Tony into taking a few sips. Between the three of them they were able to finally calm Tony down. He lay limp in Jan's arms, head resting on her shoulder, and one or two tears still trailing down his cheeks. At that moment whatever anger Sue held against Tony began to melt in the face of his anguish. She hadn't forgiven Tony, possibly never really would completely, nor would she ever forget what his decisions helped cause. But she would, given their long years of friendship, give him a second chance.

"Feel better?" she asked softly.

"Normally I'd say I was fine," Tony voice was low and faintly hoarse from his emotional outburst. "But I'm not…oh God…"

Jan tightened her arms, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Tony was pregnant. Couldn't the Avengers have normal everyday pregnancies? Carol's rapid pregnancy and birth, Wanda's creation of the twins, and now one of the Avengers' founding members, a man no less, was carrying a baby. It usually took two to tango so who, or maybe what, was the other father.

"Tony, I have to ask," Jan queried. "Who's the father…well, other father."

Tony turned his head, burying his face into Jan's short locks.

"Tony, do you know who the father is?" Sue cupped his face and turned it so she could look into his pain-filled blue eyes.

"Steve." he whispered.

Reed gasped. "Steve? As in Steve Rogers?"

Tony, on the verge of another bout of crying, just nodded.

Jan wasn't all that surprised. Almost from the start there'd been something unique between Steve and Tony, something incredibly rare and special. What started as comradely advanced into a deep friendship which then, with the passage of time, evolved into something far, far more. But men can be so infuriatingly stubborn about their emotions sometimes. Neither one would admit aloud to their true feelings for each other. It was so frustrating! Jan had seriously considered locking Steve and Tony up somewhere until they confessed they loved each other.

(Poor Tony, what are you going to do now?) Jan shed a few tears of her own.

"Dear Lord! Do you have any idea what would happen should news of this get out? That you are carrying Captain America's offspring?" Reed began pacing. "It might very well reignite the whole superhero civil war!"

"No…," Tony ran one extremely shaky hand through his hair. "Not that…"

"Do you know the possible date of conception?"

"The night before the arraignment. That was the last…last time we…" Tony choked and began sobbing again. Jan cradled him closer and began slowly rocking, murmuring soft soothing words into his mused black locks.

Reed checked the test results and frowned. The date didn't match up with the fetal growth. Unless…he typed in a new command and studied the results. Yes, Extremis must've accelerated the rate of development to ensure its viability. Instead of three weeks, Tony was at six, and he said so.

That news snapped Tony out of what Sue believed to be a hormone driven mood swing. She'd gone through enough herself during her own pregnancies to know the signs. "Nearly two months? Can you tell if it's still growing at that rate?"

Another command. "No, the fetus is now developing at a normal pace. You should now deliver around the 25th of January unless of course you decide to abort."

"WHAT?" Tony snarled.

"Reed! Don't!" Sue tried to warn her husband as he once again inserted a foot deep in his mouth.

"Well, we would have to wa—URK!"

The hand around Reed's throat gripped like a vise. "NO ONE IS TOUCHING THIS CHILD!" Tony's fingers sunk deep into Reed's pliable flesh. Stretching didn't help; Tony just tightened his hold to match. The blue clad scientist didn't remember Tony being this strong.

"It… (Cough! Cough!)...was just a possible option… (Sputter!)"

"Tony! Let him go!" Jan tugged on his arm.

"No. It's NOT!" Tony hissed with great venom.

"Right! Not an option!" Reed gasped for breath as Tony released him. Reed counted himself lucky that Tony wasn't wearing his armor. A repulsor blast at point blank range wouldn't have left much of his head.

"I'm going to pretend that you never made that suggestion. Now, what else can I expect?"

Taking a step back to put himself beyond Tony's reach, Reed sat down and looked at his old friend. "You'll continue to experience varying levels of pain until the canal is fully formed and the bones settle into their new configuration. Tony, I strongly suggest that until this process is complete, you curtail as many of your various activities as possible, especially anything that involves the armor. Stress and intensive physical exertion could interfere with the whole process and do internal damage. Too much and you could miscarry."

"I…I could lose the baby?"

"And possibly your life as well; just because the organs appear normal doesn't mean you could be treated as we would a woman in the same situation. To be absolutely safe, you should shelve any superhero activity until after the baby's born." Here his lips quirked. "You won't be able to fit in the suit in few months anyway."

Despite his anxiety Tony chuckled at the mental image. Before this was over he was going to look like he'd swallowed a beach ball.

Reed wanted to bring both Hanks in on this but only if Tony gave the okay; one being more familiar with computer programs and the other with the medical aspects. Tony agreed to that. More minds meant a better chance of his baby making it to full term. Sue tentatively offered to help him with tips and tricks she'd learned with her own pregnancies. Tony, knowing this might be his best chance to fix things between the two of them, thanked her and accepted. Jan's assistance went without saying. Whatever was needed she'd move heaven and earth to provide.

Buoyed by their support and possibly more on the horizon, Tony felt better but the anxiety remained. In fact, it seemed to have grown. With the already promised assistance and more once others found out Tony should have felt he could handle the months to come. But could he really do it without Steve?

S&T

Undisclosed Location…

(Ah, such a glorious way to start a morning.) She smiled as the dulcet strains of Mozart's violin concerto No. 5 in A major filled their darkened quarters, rousing her from the light slumber she'd been drifting in. (Wolfgang, you will never know how greatly you are missed. What further wonders could you have composed, had death not stolen you brilliance from the world. If only I had arrived a day earlier, I might have been able to save your life.)

"Lights, 25 percent." Her whispered command was acknowledged as the room became suffused with a soft glow.

Removing herself from Bernard's embrace without waking him always proved challenging enough to chase away any vestiges of slumber lingering in her mind. Fairly new to his immortality, her mate still retained some mortal traits which would only disappear with the passage of time; say a few centuries or so. A little wriggling…a few shimmies…scoot down a bit…success!

She took a moment to stroke her mate's silken locks before easing to her feet. Silent as a ghost, she crossed the room and took a seat at her private terminal. It was her habit each morning to read whatever reports her agents had transmitted the previous night. Only two were listed on the screen.

The first in line was a transmission from one of her off-world agents.

The Skrull race was finally crumbling under the onslaught of a devastating disease which was methodically creeping through their population. According to the latest report nearly 75% of the species had already succumbed. Keyed to very specific genetic sequences no Skrull was immune, nor was their current level of medical knowledge capable of creating a cure.

Her eyes were glowing with savage jubilation. (Just what they deserve.)

Years ago, she became aware of Galactus devouring the Skrull Homeworld, an event which led to the rise of a new ruler-Queen Veranke. Very soon after obtaining the throne, she began plans to conquer Earth by replacing its superheroes.

That was entirely unacceptable; the Earth was HERS! No alien monarch with delusions of galactic grandeur was going to steal the ultimate prize she'd worked so long and so hard to win!

One captured Skrull ship, a few weeks of intensive lab work, and her most virulent pestilence to date was delivered to wreak devastation upon Veranke and her people.

(Hmmm, Veranke has finally become infected; it won't take much longer now.) Oh, there would be a few survivors, scattered small populations surviving by completely isolating themselves from any outside contact, which was acceptable.

Even as she was reading this, what was left of their empire was being seized by the Kree and several other races, turning those species' attention firmly away from Earth. The intergalactic territorial fighting would stretch on for decades, perhaps even centuries, thus removing their threat to Earth as well.

Excellent; so many birds with one stone, or should she say one plague?

Next was Maria's update on the ongoing purge and SHIELD activities.

Justine Hammer, daughter of Justin Hammer and new head of Hammer Industries, and her daughter Sasha were returning from a small vacation in South Africa when their private jet went down somewhere over the Serengeti. There wasn't much left of the two women and crew after the predators and scavengers got through feasting. FAA investigators were calling the crash inevitable, given Hammer Industries' shoddy aircraft design and repair work done by the company's maintenance staff.

(My, my, she is getting to be quite inventive. Perhaps she can obtain the crash site photos for my gallery of fallen.)

Ezekiel Stane, Obadiah Stane's son, died in a five car pile up on the interstate. Witnesses reported a sixth car that started the chain reaction and drove away afterwards. Authorities were labeling it an accident caused by a drunk driver.

The woman was working through the list at a steady pace; muggings, gruesome accidents, and just plain disappearances. At this rate, the last few loose ends would be tied up within a week.

Finished, she closed the terminal and made her way to the bathroom. Once her morning adulations were complete, she stood before an alcove filled with full length mirrors and contemplated the multiple reflections before beginning her grand transformation.

Reduce her stature by two feet…add about forty pounds…darken her moon pale complexion…facial features plainer with some age lines about the eyes and mouth…remove the luster from her hair and bleed the color from ebony to a fading auburn…shorten its length…dim her brilliant eyes to a washed out blue-green…and modulate the voice by changing the pitch and accent.

Physical changes complete, she reached into the closet for the remaining portions of her disguise. Sweeping her hair up in a ponytail, she dressed; tan cotton slacks, white silk shirt, a bit on the ratty side tennis shoes, and her favorite lab coat. She grabbed her silver hound-head cane before stepped out into the hallway and was immediately descended upon by three assistants with the morning reports, requisition forms, and personal logs. Each was greeted cordially while she read.

All projects were running smoothly so she moved on to the requisition forms.

They needed MORE toilet paper and anti diarrhea medicine? She made a side note to sternly order the cook to cease any and all further attempts at Southwestern cuisine. An Iron Chef he wasn't, even if in his mind he imagined himself Bobby Flay.

However when she reached the security logs, her genial mood disappeared, replaced by a cold mask that made the three trailing in her wake cringe and fall farther behind. This would have to be taken care quickly.

"Have technician Kelly meet me at our esteemed guest's holding cell. I have a matter to-discuss with her." She fingered the handle of her cane.

S&T

Steve glanced at the hall's wall clock. 5…4…3…2…1… And there she was, so punctual one could set a clock by her. Every morning she was in the complex it was the same routine.

"Good morning Captain, I trust you slept well?" Dr. Jane Sutherly, the facility's chief scientist, greeted him in her usual bright and cheery manner, just as she had done since he first woke up in this madhouse.

He remembered how he first thought, upon waking, that he was in a hospital and the doctors had somehow managed to save his life in spite of the odds. That only lasted until Steve tried to lift a hand to search for a call button and found himself shackled hand and foot to the bed frame. His weak attempts to obtain freedom alerted his watchers that he was awake and led to the first meeting with the woman Steve eventually learned was the reason for his being here.

She smiled pleasantly throughout the entire conversation, explaining to the restrained man how he was here as their newest test subject, that no rescue would be forthcoming, that the outside world believed Captain America to be dead. She went on talking as she checked his vitals and bandages; extolling the excellent security systems this complex possessed and how he would never be able to escape, so he might as well just give up and accept his new lot in life. Steve's response to that was to spit out a few threats, promises, and struggle against the restraints even harder before passing out from exhaustion.

As his health improved, so too did the level of interaction with the staff. The first tests were simply blood and tissue samples, gradually working up to more complex and often invasive procedures. Steve was too weak at the beginning to try anything, and after one attempt, was not given a second chance. The suppressor collar firmly clasped about his neck reduced his strength substantially; a five year old could've beaten Steve up. It also acted as a choke collar. With the flick of a button it expanded, choking him until he either submitted or passed out.

Steve decided after the fifth such demonstration of the collar's effectiveness that if he played along, became more docile, he could relax his captors into a false sense of security. It was working.

Gossip is universal. No matter who one was or where one worked, people gossiped. Steve knew the value of gossip. Listening to the various scientists, lab techs, security, maintenance, and cleaning crews, Steve was able to patch together a crude map of his prison, current power structure, and random but possibly useful facts.

Dr. Sutherly basically was top dog, with a personal assistant named Bernard whom she was also sleeping with…. She was being financially backed by several unknown persons high in the government… She sometimes locked herself in her quarters and stayed inside for three or four days or even longer… The complex had five levels above the one his cell occupied… They were still located somewhere in the United States… There was a vast forested area surrounding the complex's ground level… And if one valued your life you didn't cross Dr. Sutherly-or eat the cook's southwestern food… Staff members whispered of the strange disappearance of some tech or assistant, of hearing faint screams echoing up through the vents from the lowest level which only Dr. Sutherly and her assistant had access to.

"Are you finding your new accommodations comfortable? I hoped that moving you into a homier environment would aid in further tempering your aggression. Have I perhaps missed something? Some form of comfort or entertainment?" She gestured to one wall shelf filled with paperbacks. "I chose classical literature since most of the works being produced today aren't worth the paper they're printed on. The voice command radio is programmed with music from 1946 and below." Here, a sadistic glint entered her eyes. "Or is it the quality of the television programming you have issue with?"

Steve glared at the woman just beyond the force field protected archway and remained silent.

He hated the flatscreen embedded into the wall protected by some unbreakable clear material. Hated it yet desperately needed it.

The programming was limited, obviously being filtered and edited by some unseen technician; one or two old movie stations, the classic cartoon channel, and one which Steve had come to think of as the Tony Stark channel. Any clip of news pertaining to Tony was pieced together and shown on that channel. Steve nearly broke his shoulder slamming into the force field after seeing Tony break down at Steve's own funeral, the need to reach his distraught lover's side temporarily overwhelming his common sense.

And always there was Sutherly and her painful little barbs, all delivered in that sickeningly honey sweet tone.

Before she could deliver another verbal blow to Steve, something down the hall caught her attention.

"You asked to see me Dr. Sutherly?" The young lab tech asked as she stopped before her superior.

"Ah yes, Kelly." Sutherly smiled warmly at the pretty tech. "I've been quite impressed by your work of late, you're being wasted as a level 2 tech I think."

Kelly blushed prettily and mumbled a thank you.

"Your section supervisor speaks very highly of your skill with gene sequencing. And I have read your theories on comparative DNA in extraterrestrial life; you discovered a few facts I myself was not aware of."

The girl's blush deepened.

"Such wonderful talents; you've displayed great intuitive genius—especially on how you managed to smuggle information out of this facility."

Kelly blanched, all color draining from her features.

"That was a simply brilliant maneuver. My Intel unit informs me that they have yet to discover exactly how you did it, as well as the parcel's contents and destination but rest assured, they will do so. That only leaves you to deal with." Sutherly stepped closer and gently cupped the petrified girl's face. "What a pity, I had such high hopes for you."

Shink!

Cold steel glittered in the light as it arched upwards. Kelly grunted as the blade pierced her, eyes as wide as tea saucers with shock and pain.

Sutherly steadied the girl as she shoved the cane's unsheathed blade up and then through, the bloody tip emerging just below the left shoulder blade, mere inches from the spine.

"NO!" Steve roared and pounded against the force field, but to no avail.

Twisting the cane Sutherly flung her head back, relishing the sound of tearing flesh, spraying blood, and gurgling gasps as lungs flooded with blood and heart muscles shredded. Kelly shuddered and Sutherly pulled the girl's body closer, burying her face in the junction of that slim neck. She could feel the pulse fluttering erratically beneath her lips as the girl's life leached into her own body, taste the girl's fear and pain in her sweat and smell the cloying scent of death. (Ah! So sweet indeed!)

Certain that the entirety of the girl's essence had fled its tattered mortal shell and now firmly secured within her mental grasp, Sutherly lowered her arm and allowed Kelly's body to slide off the blade.

Steve couldn't take his eyes off the girl's sprawled form and the growing pool of red.

Sutherly ran a finger through the thick blood dripping from her weapon and brought the smear to her lips. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor as it burst along her taste buds; fear added so much depth and spice to the life sustaining liquid. The young woman's blood was almost as satisfying as the many decades of life energy she absorbed as Kelly died. When she opened her eyes she smiled at Steve, blood staining those perfect white teeth.

"Don't look so shocked Captain. I merely exercised my rights as her employer and…terminated her employment for breech of contract."

Two guards stepped forwards and silently awaited their orders. Sutherly waved a hand dismissively at the freshly made corpse. "Dispose of that. Standard procedure."

Hands grabbed Kelly's ankles and unceremoniously dragged her away, leaving a wide smear of blood in their wake.

"An object lesson on the dangers of disloyalty Captain," she explained as she cleaned the blade with a handkerchief. "Even as we speak her body is being paraded through the entire complex, paying close attention to those areas with high traffic. A very effective visual reminder to everyone what the penalty for betrayal is. Her death will inspire the others to greater heights of loyalty and eliminate any further traitorous thoughts…except maybe among the custodial crews; they do so hate to clean up blood."

"Dr. Sutherly!" Bernard came rushing down the corridor. "An emergency message from Hill!"

"An emergency? It must be urgent if she took such risks to contact me outside the safe zone." She took the missive from the young man's hand and read. "This is impossible. Tony Stark simply cannot be sick. Extremis has rendered him impervious to all cataloged illnesses and diseases."

(Sick? Tony's sick?) Steve strained to hear what was being said. His anger rose as he heard them mention Hill. Maria Hill? She was on Sutherly's payroll?

"Perhaps so. But it is still possible to attack him through the Extremis itself. They don't call them computer viruses for nothing." Bernard pointed out.

"All too true, the man certainly has enough enemies with the programming savvy to attempt such a strike. And we cannot rule out poison either, Extremis may not be able to combat some new designer drug created specifically for just such a task." She slapped the paper against her thigh in mild irritation.

"This definitely changes matters. Alert our agents in the field, I'm advancing the timetables. They are to proceed with the capture of subject Stark at the first available opportunity presented to them. Remind them Bernard; he is to be alive and unharmed. Any injury he suffers will be inflicted back upon them a hundred fold."

"Right away Doctor."

"Looks like you'll be getting a neighbor soon Captain." And with a flick of her ponytail, Sutherly resumed her morning inspection, whistling something that sounded like Mozart.

Steve dropped to his knees, tightly clenched fists braced against the force field, heart pounding in his chest.

Tony, they were going after Tony. His lover who was inexplicably battling some unknown illness and therefore vulnerable, the target of a madwoman, and was placing his trust in a traitorous agent that was no doubt waiting for the right moment to stab him the back.

And Steve couldn't do a damn thing about it except pray.

Tbc

There are reasons for Sutherly's actions which will be explained in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Eveing everyone. Christmas is just a few days away and things are hectic. In order to keep my nephews from ripping into their presents I've actually had to lock everything up and carry the key around with me. But they're determined little critters and have attempted to pick, pry, or just destroy the door. If I had a camcorder I'd probably have enough footage to send into those funniest video shows and win a few prizes. Ah well, I should have expected this, they're family.

I offer up heartfelt prayers that everyone has a safe and happy Christmas surrounded by those that matter most in our lives; our dearest friends and beloved family. Merry Christmas!

Part 2

Unknown Location: Night of Kelly's Death…

Below a rare storm was raging across the bleak desert. Billowing angry clouds rolled overhead illuminated by jagged lances of brilliant purple lightening. Hurricane force winds whipped the sands into a frenzy; building dunes hundreds of miles high only to tear them apart moments later. But within the protective barriers all was quiet and still.

Only vaguely aware of the magnificent display of meteorological violence the central core's long occupant focused her attention on the contents of her hand.

(The human soul is such a contradiction; so fragile yet so incredibly strong.) Between her forefinger and thumb the delicate light emitted by the small orb she held barely seemed noticeable. But she could clearly feel its energy; feel the ensnared soul beating with intangible limbs in this seemingly fragile prison frantically striving to escape. It was rather like holding onto a frightened hummingbird.

Intent upon studying her latest catch she barely registered the door's activation or the approaching footsteps.

"You actually frightened me out there earlier," Bernard groused as he flopped down in the seat across from her. "What the hell was that all about?"

Pulling her gaze away from the orb she studied her much, much, much younger mate. Yes, there were signs; the slight pallor to the skin about his eyes, the tiniest tremble in those long talented fingers. Even his scent carried the faint, barely noticeable, taint of hunger that would only grow if not tended to.

"Explanations will be forthcoming Bernard, but there is a more urgent matter that you specifically must attend to." She retrieved a capped test tube from the table by her elbow and held it out to her suddenly reluctant and nervous partner.

"Must I?" He looked faintly nauseated at the sight of the thick dark red liquid contained in the glass.

Her voice and arm were firm, piercing blue gaze held his own. "You are far too new to your immortality to stretch your feedings out as I do."

"But the blood…" He reluctantly took the test tube.

"Is necessary."

Uncapping the tube Bernard made a disgusted face before downing the blood in a quick gulp that wasn't quite quick enough. As the metallic taste filled his mouth he coughed and sputtered before gladly accepting the offered glass of aged brandy.

"I know this is difficult for you Bernard, but in time you will not only become accustomed to the taste you will begin to crave it."

"H-how," he coughed and took another swallow of the fiery liquid. "I can't see that happening…blood as food?"

She graced her mate with a gentle smile. "Oh Bernard, we really must broaden your culinary horizons. There are numerous cultures across the globe that consider blood not only an acceptable food source but a highly desired delicacy."

"But not human blood correct?"

"One or two," she sighed. "If there was another way I would offer it. But without her blood acting as an anchor you would not have time to properly digest her energies." She patted his knee before handing over the orb. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that bolting your food would cause a tummy ache?"

"Perhaps I wouldn't find it so hard to accept if we didn't have to kill so violently." Bernard said before bringing the orb to his lips and sucking the soul out.

"Unfortunately it must be so. Sudden, painfully violent death ensures severance of the soul's connection to the body: every scrap of energy is fully released." She watched Bernard relax as the life-sustaining energy flowed though his body. "Over the ages I have experimented in other, more passive, means of feeding-with almost disastrous results. The souls fought savagely to remain in their mortal bodies or move on and the battle to extract them drained more energy from me than was gained by feeding. I came perilously close to starving before returning to the original method."

"We can starve to death?" He asked in a satiated voice.

"To death? No, not in the truest sense of the term. When we pass the threshold into starvation our bodies shut down and go into a state of suspended animation until such time as food is provided by another." Her eyes grew haunted. "It is a living death Bernard, you are aware of every moment, aware of the ravenous hunger constantly tearing at your insides, of the bone-gnawing pain that never relents, made all the worse because you must depend on another to provide you with the only means to alleviate it. Some have gone mad beneath the weight of prolonged starvation."

Bernard shuddered at the gruesome images her words generated.

"This is a brutal measure for our survival Bernard, but no more violent really than the slaughter of cattle, sheep, or pigs. I often wonder if humans truly witnessed how those steaks, ribs, and roasts reached their tables if they would stop eating them."

"Well, now that I've eaten can you explain what went on this afternoon?" Bernard propped his feet up and looked at her expectantly.

"I hope you will forgive me for the theatrics my dear Bernard. I was—what is the saying? Ah yes, I was laying it on thick for my captive audience."

"A performance for Captain America? Why would you-," he broke off as he reasoned out her motive. "You want him to…believe Sutherly's psychotic."

"Before that moment he harbored a certain level of anger, perhaps even a touch of hatred, towards Dr. Sutherly but that was as far as his emotions went. Now he believes her to be dangerously unstable, totally unpredictable, and fully capable of murdering in cold blood and taking great pleasure from such actions. A few more such demonstrations of her erratic nature and I guarantee that, given the proper incentive, I can goad Captain Rogers, or failing that one of his companions whom he has informed about Sutherly, into reacting with lethal force."

"You want to kill Dr. Sutherly? But she's served you so well!"

"Sutherly is but one mask among countless thousands I have employed over the long ages. Like many of those others before her she is close to outliving her usefulness. But before I discard her she will serve one last purpose." Effortlessly rising to her feet in is a swirl of blue fabric she crossed the platform to retrieve a folder and handed it to her companion.

Bernard accepted the papers and quickly scanned their contents. "So Intel has intercepted Kelly's information packet."

"Which presents us Bernard with a golden opportunity to kill a multitude of birds with one well-aimed stone. Given Kelly's corruption and betrayal it's obvious that we can no longer rely on our backers among the government and private sectors. They are becoming more of a hindrance than a help at this point in the game. Once Stark is in our possession I estimate we will have at least three days before someone among that group contacts us and demands he is turned over. They have long wanted Stark within their power, both for his wealth and for his technological talents."

"So how do we turn this to our advantage?" Bernard tapped the folder on his knee.

"Our dear little snitch, who sadly possessed more greed than common sense, is going to have a posthumous change of heart. After a bit of editing we reroute the packet to someone who will use the information contained to our best advantage."

"And who would that be?"

"Colonel Nicholas Fury."

Bernard spit out the sip of brandy he'd just taken. "Fury? But he's the last person I'd expect for us to contact."

"True, he is an enemy; perhaps the most dangerous one of the lot. The man has the devil's own luck and more lives than a thousand cats. I actually encountered him once while gathering information on Hydra. Such a merry little chase we had through some of Singapore's more uncivilized alleys before he cornered me. After a brief scuffle I ended up skewering him to a shack with one of my favorite dirks; pity to loose such an excellently crafted weapon. I believed the man was dead…until I spotted him three weeks later in Japan."

A flick of the wrist summoned up one of the currently active chessboards. Within her hand materialized a green piece in the image of the individual they were discussing. Twirling it between two fingers dark eyes studied the man's chiseled features; he really was quite handsome in his own rugged fashion. "Of the innumerable pieces I have moved across the game boards Fury has come closest to discovering my games. It is precisely for that reason that I rarely include him, he is almost impossible to control." She set the piece on an unoccupied square.

"Then why use him now?"

"In this instance he's precisely the game piece we need. Like Sutherly, I never intended for this facility to be a permanent piece in the game. Once he knows the location and who we are housing here Fury will scramble to gather what forces he can to mount a rescue mission." She ran a finger over the geographic map mounted on a free standing wall. "I suspect Dugan will supply him with SHIELD transportation and men despite Hill's attempts to prevent it. He will also, no doubt, bring several of Captain Roger's superhero friends along as heavy artillery."

Bernard was catching on to what she was planning. "Perhaps we should clear out the facility of all vital personnel, data, and prisoners now. Leave only a skeleton crew for appearances."

"Excellent idea-but we will leave Captain Rogers and Stark here."

"Aren't you planning to kill them? Leaving both alive would certainly be dangerous for us."

"Tell me Bernard would you seize a pair of scissors and turn the Mona Lisa into confetti? Take a sledgehammer to the statue of David? Burn an original play written in Shakespeare's own hand? Throw paint thinner on a Van Gogh or a Rembrandt?"

"No! I would never even think of destroying such masterpieces." He shook his head vehemently.

"Nor would I, which is precisely the reason I will not kill Captain America."

"But you have the Super Soldier Serum. You can make a hundred…a thousand super soldiers."

Pouring a glass of brandy she took a sip and savored the rich aged flavor before answering. "And when the time is right I shall create such an army. But while they will each be Super Soldiers none will be Captain America. He is a true masterpiece. It is not the serum which makes him so but his great heart and noble soul. Physical perfection combined with those elements has created a biological masterpiece to rival any of Leonardo's work. I could no more destroy him than I could a Gogan or Monet."

"You took a great risk allowing Red Skull's shooter to fire that first shot then. He could've just have easily blown the man's head off." Bernard pointed out.

A smirk graced her exquisite features. "That would've rendered the body useless and even if they intended otherwise the Skull would want his old enemy to suffer, a head shot would've been far too quick and painless a death. I took a carefully calculated risk and it paid off."

Bernard nodded in acceptance of her logic. It never ceased to amaze him how easily she read people and used that knowledge to her advantage. "So Fury rides to the rescue; what then?"

"Fury and his team will break in and retrieve Rogers and Stark. We shall leave enough security forces to make the venture difficult enough so as not to arouse suspicion. I think that I shall also send out a few of my beauties just to enhance the appearance of danger."

Bernard shuddered. "Must you? Those creatures of yours aren't very inclined to take orders, not to mention their fondness for human flesh. They might not stop at attack and injure."

"Did I say that I would order them to only injure? No, I shall put no form of restraint upon their actions. The savagery of their attack will only serve to add credence to our ruse," she flicked a stray bit of lint from her gown. "And if they succeed in permanently crippling, or even killing, one or two of the superheroes all the better."

The younger immortal again saw her logic but still…he'd seen the way those monstrosities ate. Whenever possible they liked their meals alive and able to fight back. They seemed to take intense delight in keeping their prey alive as long as possible while tearing them apart. It was neither a quick or painless way to die.

"I have no doubt that once Fury has the two men safely in his keeping he will order this facility thoroughly searched and all the computers checked. I shall leave enough evidence behind, coupled with Kelly's packet, to lead Fury to our backers."

Bernard chuckled wickedly. "And Fury will take care of them for us."

"He will be so busy cleaning up the corruption in his own government, retaking SHIELD, and discovering our carefully laid out background for registration and the following civil war that we shall be free to move about unencumbered." She raised her glass. "A toast to the gung-ho, to Fury and his dedication, to the bonds of friendship and brotherhood which can be so easily twisted to our benefit."

"Indeed." Glasses clinked and together they downed the last of their drinks.

Setting the carved crystal aside she picked up a data pad. "All personnel, data, and subjects from sections 3, 4, 8, 11, 15, 16, and 24 are to be moved immediately. I refuse to risk those projects. Sections 5, 7, 10, 19, 20, and 22 we shall transfer after Stark's arrival. All remaining sections are of no risk if they fall into enemy hands and thus can remain."

"I would," Bernard set his glass down. "Ask for one exception to those orders."

"And what would that be Bernard?"

"Leave subject 4-22L here. Move the furball up to one of the unoccupied cells by Captain Rogers so she'll be rescued with them."

She graced her younger mate with a teasing smile. "You've grown rather fond of that little stray kitten haven't you?"

"I know you want to study her more…but…," an appealing blush spread across his cheeks. "Well, she's…she's just so sweet…cute and…fluffy…so…"

Rich laughter filled the air. "You and your love for anything feline. Very well, I will authorize her transfer. She was not all that interesting a subject anyway, little more than a passing fancy to fill the time, and I do have all the data and samples I require."

Now that their path was laid and the gnawing hunger abated he was feeling a different type of hunger welling up inside him, a hunger that was answered in those magnificent blue eyes.

Unknown Location: Next Morning…

Moving about in the transport crate's narrow confines was next to impossible unless one possessed an amazingly flexible body; twisting and turning she peered out one of the tiny air vents. Luminous emerald eyes narrowed in concentration, large ears swiveling back and forth searching for the slightest sound. Pushing her nose against the slits she delicately sniffed the air.

Different guards, their scents unknown to her. A glint off metal, they were carrying guns, nasty guns that stung or fired darts that made her so woozy and clumsy.

This wasn't the usual route to the labs or the exercise room; they were below her cell and she was certain that the elevator traveled up not down.

Another scent, both familiar and comforting, wafted in. She liked Mr. Bernard, he was nice. He played with her, read to her, and brought her special treats. But the lady doctor—she was scary. Her smile and sweet words weren't right. She lied. Bad people lied.

She shifted until she was again facing the crate's door. Claws tapped the metal collar around her neck. If only that nasty thing was off she could make a brake for it. The thought of freedom was very powerful…but where would she go? Momma and Uncle Cyrus were gone to heaven and Aunt Patrica hated her. How do you go home when there's no home to go to?

"Here were go, you're new home little one." Bernard said as the grav platform came to a halt.

She could hear the control panel's keys being typed and quickly committed the numbers to memory. The low level hum of the force field died away and once again she was moving.

S&T

Steve watched as Sutherly's assistant directed the guards to remove the crate, snapping sharply at one man when his grip slipped and the container hit the floor rather hard. Glaring at the man as he scurried out the cell Bernard sat a weathered backpack down before stepping back into the hall and restoring the force field. Using one of those hand controls Steve so desperately wanted to lay his hands on Bernard triggered the crate's door mechanism.

"A bit more room for you little one, should be more comfortable." He pocketed the device.

Oh, if only Steve could get ahold of that controller…

After Bernard and the guards departed Steve rose from his chair and crossed his cell.

Who, or what, would emerge from the transport crate?

The wait wasn't a long one.

A pink, twitching nose emerged from the darkened interior framed by long glistening whiskers. Slowly, cautiously, the head came into view. Definite feline features; large rotating ears, short muzzle, and a pair of large brilliant emerald eyes with slit irises. The fluffy mane and most of the facial fur was white with a patch of rust colored fur covering one eye and black the other.

As more of the body appeared Steve noted the tattered Winnie the Pooh t-shirt and shorts which only partially obscured the rust and black fur pattern along the back and hips. He couldn't believe the length of the amazingly fluffy tail which seemed to have a life of its own. Small body. Steve wasn't sure if this individual was very young or full grown. He couldn't tell whether it was male or female yet.

Introduced to a new environment the feline began meticulously examining every inch of the cell. Smelling any crack or indentation, testing with fingers tipped with delicate looking claws. Particular attention was paid to the ventilation ducts and bathroom facilities. Steve thought the inspection was over when the last wall panel was sniffed but he was wrong. Without any outward sign of effort the feline walked up the wall and onto the ceiling, clinging upside down to the slippery surface. Steve couldn't help but chuckle as he remembered Peter frequently doing much the same thing.

Stiffening the feline head swiveled in his direction.

Steve gasped as the small form dropped. But he needn't have been concerned as the body twisted in midair; bringing hands and cat-like hind legs and paws to meet the floor. Remaining on all fours his fellow prisoner approached the force field before standing up on those more animalistic legs.

"Hi mister, who are you?" Piped the feline in a surprisingly young and female voice.

"Steve, Steve Rogers." He replied.

"Steve…that's a nice name," she smiled, displaying gleaming white teeth, double canines long and razor sharp. "My name's Persia. Momma named me that 'cause I'm pretty like one."

"Yes, you are very pretty Persia," Steve smiled then his expression turned somber. "Where is your mother Persia? Is she here somewhere?"

Persia's ears drooped. "Momma's gone to heaven, Uncle Cyrus too," she whispered hoarsely. "Lots of masked men came in the middle of the night with guns. Uncle Cyrus tried to stop them but they shot him and Momma. Then they brought me here. Did the bad doctor lady have you brought here too?" Dragging the backpack over with her tail she unzipped the largest pouch to retrieve a much battered but obviously beloved teddy bear which she cuddled to her chest.

Steve swallowed before nodding. "Yes she did."

A deep whine rumbled up in her throat and that fantastic tail slapped the floor. "Did she kill you're family too?"

Thoughts of Tony and the hell his "death" had put the man though. Of all the physical and emotional trauma that continued to tear his lover apart. All his friends, the people he'd come to consider his family, mourning his loss. "No, she hasn't killed them but she's hurt them all very, very badly."

She snapped her teeth with a resounding click. "She's a bad lady. I wish I could bop her one, or maybe bite her."

"No, you don't," Steve sat down on the floor. "You'd probably get sick."

Persia chuffed before curling up in a furry mound; tail wrapped several times around her body, leaving only her pretty face exposed. "Probably right; she's rotten. When fruit goes bad it gets all nasty and rotten. She's bad so she's gotta be rotten."

S&T

Very quickly Steve became immensely fond of the kitten-child. She was just such an adorable furry bundle of innocence and enthusiasm even after spending long months here with these wicked people. He enjoyed talking to her, listening to her stories about her time with her family and adventures in the woods around her home. In return Steve told her of his own life, Of his time before he was given the Super Soldier Serum, fighting against the tyranny of the Nazis, and his awakening into a new world made all the more disconcerting by the lingering remnants of the one he'd known before his plunge into the frigid depths.

As wonderful as Persia's company was her presence only added to Steve's worries. Even if an avenue of escape presented itself Steve wouldn't attempt anything unless Persia went as well. From his observations and snippets gleamed from the staff the only thing keeping Persia from the dissection table was Bernard's obvious fondness for the feline child. Steve truly feared that at any moment Sutherly might decide her research was more important than her lover's feelings. There was no way he would leave this child in the hands of that madwoman.

S&T

SHIELD Helicarrier, Fourteen days after discovery…

Dugan's patience was worn paper thin.

Stark was definitely sick. The man practically lived off coffee, treated the dark brew as if it occupied half the major food group list. If there was a way to hook up an intravenous feed of the stuff Stark would've invented it. Might've done that already; nobody knew exactly all the gadgets he had built into his various armors.

Now he wouldn't touch the stuff, even acted like the very smell of a fresh pot made him sick.

Hell, he was sick whether coffee was involved or not. Dugan could personally attest to witnessing three such instances where Stark had caught a stray aroma, turned some interesting shades of green, and bolted for the nearest available receptacle.

A few agents thought he was back on the bottle.

Dugan didn't think that was so.

Jan had become an almost permanent fixture, hanging around Stark, coaxing or even browbeating the man to eat or rest-as much good as that did. With as much as Tony Stark had on the stack of plates he was precariously balancing he couldn't afford the luxury of resting even if it was badly needed.

What irked Dugan most was that the man was avoiding him, wouldn't even answer his calls and e-mails. When Stark wasn't hiding in his quarters like some wounded animal curled up in its den licking its injuries he was at the Baxter building. Whatever Reed found out must've been bad, real bad. Richard himself refused to disclose anything, calmly stating that it was Tony's decision who had the right to know about his condition.

His condition. Damn, it never sounded good when scientists or doctors talked like that.

Time for a little private investigation.

Once again he had cause to silently thank Nick for passing along those special override codes, his own personal skeleton keys he called them. They were the only way he could gain access to Stark's private quarters and office aboard the Helicarrier without setting off every alarm on the crate. Thank God Nick only trusted him with the codes; Dugan shuddered to think what Hill would use them for.

Dugan only noted in passing the more modern furnishings, his attention was drawn to the desk. With quick efficiency he checked every folder and letter but found only documents dealing with his company or SHIELD. He flipped through the appointment book. Nothing but scribbles, doodles of geometric shapes, and long strings of numbers and letters which might have been computer codes. He bypassed the computer; no way would Nick's skeleton keys work against Stark's programming.

(Strike one on the desk.) Dugan turned towards the door to Stark's bedroom.

The bed was neatly made, almost as if no one had slept in it for some time-which might have been true when Dugan saw the state of the couch; rumpled pillows and a blanket. On the coffee table—jackpot!

Pages of test results with notes written in Reed's distinctive handwriting, printed files from various internet sites, and at least a dozen different books whose pages were littered with post-it notes as bookmarks.

All dealing with one specific ailment.

Pregnancy.

Why would Stark be researching…suddenly all the pieces clicked into place.

The timing…the symptoms…Reed and Jan's concern…all the effort Stark was obviously throwing into his research…

Dear God the man was pregnant, pregnant with Captain America's baby. It couldn't be anyone else's.

(Okay, this is bad!) Dugan fretted silently, shock warring with surprise. After so many years working alongside superheroes he'd come to expect the bizarre and unusual to occur with regular frequency. Alien invasions, time travel, alternate dimensions, and megalomaniacs were becoming routine, almost boring at times. The situation wouldn't be so upsetting if this had happened to one of the other superheroes. Someone who'd gained their powers through some weird energy or chemical might've developed the ability to get knocked up as a side effect. A mutant would've been even less upsetting.

A man like Stark, born completely human and without the x-gene, suddenly turning up pregnant complicated the hell out of things.

What the hell could've caused this? Alien intervention…supernatural spell…the old mad scientist playing God….

Dugan dropped onto the couch and picked up one of the test papers, trying to make out Reed's distinctive handwriting. He couldn't decipher much of the technical and medical stuff but he did understand enough to know that the Extremis was at the root of all this. The man slammed down the papers and swore under his breath. Dugan had read the initial reports on Stark's gaining Extremis; either use the experimental program and hope for the best or die from extensive internal injuries. Yeah, it worked. Stark was alive and now really was a part of his suit. But it looks like that decision was coming back to bite him in the ass big time.

This changed everything.

Stark was now more vulnerable than almost any time in his life. He shouldn't be fighting, suit or no suit. Hell, he probably shouldn't be anywhere near anything remotely to do with capes. Even the Helicarrier was dangerous. What would Hill do if she found out this little tidbit?

He needed more information before making plans. Plans on how to protect man and child from any super villain out to take advantage of this sudden vulnerability, the government morons, members of the super hero community who might take offence to him bearing Steve's kid, and probably the most dangerous threat of all—Stark himself.

Carrying a baby wasn't any pony ride in the park, more like a roller coaster ride at Coney Island. Dugan should-

BEEP…BEEP… BEEP…

Dugan clicked off the alarm on his watch. The security cameras monitoring the outer hall would be returning to their normal scan pattern in five minutes. Carefully Dugan placed everything back the way he found it on the coffee table. Retracing his steps he checked to make sure no trace of his visit remained to alert Stark to his breeching of the man's private quarters. Once the door slid closed behind him Dugan headed for the lifts.

S&T

Undisclosed Location…

Long days of waiting, long days of watching.

Long days of building nerves and growing nightmares.

Every member of the capture team knew the longer they took in completing their mission, the greater the risk of punishment hovered over their heads. None feared this more than the unit commander.

Dr. Sutherly's orders were quite simple and crystal clear; capture Tony Stark alive and unharmed then deliver him back the facility.

He was given the means to accomplish this task: the gas, serum, collar, and the all the necessary men and equipment. All that was still required was the right time and place to strike.

And time and place that had currently failed to materialize.

With each tick of the clock time was running out.

A faint tremor shook his hand as the commander picked up the Styrofoam cup one soldier just placed before him, nearly spilling the hot coffee into his lap. While the other team members only had a vague inkling of what manner of punishment Dr. Sutherly could mete out for failure he knew with horrifying clarity. His predecessor's fate haunted his dreams and preyed constantly on his waking thoughts.

He could easily suffer the same fate.

He WOULD suffer the same fate if he failed.

"Sir! Agent 23 reports the target is mobile."

Coffee splashed over the table as he bolted to his feet. "Manner?"

"Ground transportation Sir."

Excitement sent his heart to hammering. "All nearby agents converge and coordinate! Tail that car! Pack up people! I want us ready to move in for the capture the second the opportunity presents itself!"

S&T

Stamford, fifteen days after discovery…

Memories. The house was full of memories.

Setting aside her peeling knife Miriam closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Damion had so loved to watch her cook.

Like ghosts they haunted Miriam, intangible phantoms she could neither dispel nor relinquish. They filled every nook and cranny, possessed each stick of furniture and object, echoed in even the smallest everyday task.

Buried in the bedroom closet was the dress she wore when Jake took her to that awfully cheesy Italian restaurant with the surprisingly good cuisine and proposed right there in front of all the other diners. Above on the shelf were boxes filled with photos of their wedding, honeymoon, and early years together. Beneath on the closet floor was the wooden chest containing Damion's baby clothes, special mementos, and the pregnancy diary and baby's first year albums she and Jake so joyfully put together.

Jake's old ragged recliner, looking like some reject from the dump heap, which he refused to part with no matter how much she promised to get him a new one sat forlornly in the den. On the bookshelves sat his trophies for the marathons he'd won right beside pictures of her husband and their son on Damion's first visit to the zoo.

Pinned by magnets to the refrigerator were pictures of Damion in the school play, his crayon drawings of their family and the dog he hoped to persuade his mother to buy, and the last report card she and Damion were so proud of.

Down the hall was Damion's room, looking exactly as it had that morning he'd went off to school-and never came back. Miriam found herself often going inside and sitting on the bed, clutching that much battered and beloved teddy bear to her chest as she cried ragged sobs of pain and loss. There amidst the toys and books Damion loved so well she could almost feel her son's presence.

Not even fleeing the house gave her a reprieve; everywhere she went the memories were there waiting for her…

The park where Damion loved to play on the jungle gyms. That wonderful bakery that made the cinnamon bread Jake and Damion would practically inhale whenever she bought it. The pizza pallor where the whole family would go to after a movie. That same Italian restaurant she and Jake would go to every year to celebrate their anniversary.

The gas station where Jake was at the wrong place at the wrong time and paid for it with his life…

The graveyard where her husband and son were buried side by side…

At times she thought they would drive her mad but there were also moments Miriam believed the memories were the only things keeping her sanity intact.

Aunt Clarice badgered her at least once a week to come and live with her but Miriam refused to leave the house she and Jake worked so hard to restore and make into a real home. The dear old lady meant well and Miriam would admit to a few fleeting moments of weakness where she seriously considered her aunt's offer. But Miriam knew that if she fled now she might never have to the courage to come back.

She would live with the ghosts of Jake and Damion. As much pain as they caused her Miriam refused to live without them.

Her mind drifted to another who lived with ghosts; Tony Stark.

Her forehead creased with worry. Miriam hadn't seen or spoken to the man since Captain America's funeral. She nearly choked on her own tears as she watched Mr. Stark's intense emotional pain on that sad, sad day. When the services were finally over Miriam attempted to reach the man, to offer her condolences, but what could she have said? All those platitudes, some heartfelt others only lip service, that friends and family offered her at Jake's funeral seemed so hollow, beating the fact he was gone deeper inch by painful inch into her soul.

Would hers have sounded the same to him?

Through her interaction with the various pro-registration heroes and government officials Miriam had learned there had always been something unique between the two men. Closer than friends, closer than brothers, some even speculated they might've been lovers but no one ever succeeded in discovering if that was true. Together they could achieve the impossible, were willing to go to any lengths to save the other even if it meant sacrificing their own life.

How terrible it must've been to be on opposite sides, to be fighting each other. And then to watch the other killed, gunned down like a rabid dog…

Maybe she should call him…Just call…

The sound of a car pulling into her driveway pulled her out of her current thoughts.

Tbc…


End file.
